Chapter Fifteen: You Actually Intend to Kill Me!

Below the stage, a middle-aged man who looked to be about thirty-five or thirty-six years old stood with his arms crossed, watching Fang Che walk away.

He chuckled softly, "This kid, he's interesting."

Fang Che made his way to the Academy Affairs Office and submitted his application for off-campus housing.

Inside sat a bald old man who looked up, somewhat surprised. "You bought a residence next to the Martial Academy?"

He glanced down at the paper again and immediately remarked, "Fang Che?"

He looked up. "Young Master Fang from Bibo City?"

Then, "The 'Righteous and Noble' Young Master Fang?"

Finally, "No wonder you're so wealthy. No wonder, no wonder. Approved."

*Thump!*

He stamped the document.

As Fang Che received the approval, he felt a mix of amusement and annoyance. The old man's sarcasm had reached an impressively high level.

However, Fang Che wasn't angry. The old man’s moral compass was actually quite sound; one shouldn't make an enemy of someone just because they teased them. Since the matter was handled, let him say his piece—besides, who told him to be a villain in this life?

He strolled back home, unbothered.

*Practice for two hours, take a nap, give Ye Meng a good scolding, and then heading back in the afternoon shouldn't be too late.*

Fang Che left.

Meanwhile, the area around the arena remained lively and boisterous. Every so often, cheers erupted from the crowd as someone's bet paid off.

It is worth noting that in this first round, since everyone mostly bet on the top three or top six, there usually weren't any failures—yet, someone actually started wailing.

This fellow had a tuft of hair on his face and looked thin and withered. Because he had lost too much in previous years, he had bet on the ninth-place contestant, thinking it was his lucky birthday number and hoping for an upset.

As it turned out, the ninth-place guy was actually quite talented, but his luck was abysmal; in the first round of the draw, he ran into Ding Jieran. With a single strike, he was sent coughing up blood, rolling off the arena.

Consequently, there was now a man with a miserable face roaming around, bowing and begging to borrow credits, but unfortunately, no one would lend him any. Wherever he went, people dodged him as if he were a plague. The man with the tuft of hair stood alone in the crowd, looking utterly desolate.

...

Fang Che's performance had sparked heated discussion. Many who were clutching their points and waiting to see had abandoned their bets on Fang Che and switched to others.

Although Fang Che had won his first match quickly and unarmed against a bladed weapon, everyone could see that while he seemed stronger than Lin Ziqing, he was still inferior to those on the stage who were winning cleanly and decisively.

Moreover, a lot of Fang Che's victory was attributed to psychological factors—his poisonous tongue had confused his opponent. Therefore, his support rate dropped significantly.

Of course, there was still a group of "beauty-obsessed" girls who didn't care about points and stubbornly placed their bets on Fang Che.

"Winning or losing doesn't matter. Just for this magnificent face, even if we lose, it's worth it!"

It must be said that these girls, completely blinded by infatuation, were not a small number. Their main goal was simply to play!

*Hey, it's just for fun.*

What are points? The "simps" have plenty!

...

On the arena, the bouts continued pair by pair, and Fang Che’s guess was correct.

When he arrived back slowly in the afternoon, they had only reached the forty-fifth pair; there were still five pairs left to go.

Fang Qingyun was waiting for him with a massive entourage. Compared to the previous day, the group had grown significantly, with several beauties added to the ranks.

"Cousin, where did you run off to? I circled the arena eight times looking for you!" Fang Qingyun was slightly annoyed. "This tournament is so important to you, yet you didn't stay at the scene to observe the strength of the others? How could you be so careless?"

"Isn't that why you're here, Cousin?" Fang Che smiled. "I'm sure you've recorded all the information for me."

Fang Qingyun snorted and pulled a sheet of paper from his sleeve. "This is a list of all the winners so far. We analyzed it together."

Fang Che took it and looked. *Whoa!*

It was incredibly detailed.

Names, ages, weapons, estimated cultivation levels, combat traits, fighting styles, the rank of the opponent, time taken to win. Then, in parentheses, suspicions of hidden strength... and so on.

"This is so thorough!"

Fang Che took one look and realized there were a full six people who had won their matches in a single strike. They were at ease to the extreme. These six were also the ones with the highest support rates: Huo Churan, Ding Jieran, Qiu Yunshang, Xie Gongping, Mo Gaiyun, and Ximen Xuri.

"Basically as I expected." Fang Che looked at the six names.

These six had revealed the least and had the highest support. In particular, the bets on Huo Churan and Qiu Yunshang had already exceeded twenty thousand!

"How many people have bet on me to win the championship?" Fang Che asked.

"I don't know the exact number of people, but the points staked on you total seven thousand three hundred, placing you seventh!" Fang Qingyun sighed.

"Why so many?"

"Those are all 'beauty points'," one girl with big eyes said with a smile. "I put eighteen points on you. After all, our cousin is handsome, isn't he?"

"..."

Fang Che was speechless. He had thought his support rate would have dropped, but he never imagined it would remain so sturdy. It just goes to show that this face-obsessed world was beyond saving.

*It seems I need to be even more low-key. I'll finish Huang Yifan's task first and focus on entrapping people.* Fang Che made up his mind. *As long as I can win, it's fine. As for what comes after... we'll see.*

The four rounds concluded. Fifty people advanced.

They drew lots again. Fang Che was still number one, drawing first. He took it out and looked, and couldn't help but be stunned.

The target was met so early: Ximen Xuri!

Fang Che immediately recalled the keywords: Hidden weapons, Red Blood Snake!

But the information Sun Yuan had given him indicated that Ximen Xuri was a Martial Warrior of the eighth grade. He didn't believe it for a second; if he were only an eighth-grade Martial Warrior, he could never have killed enough demonic beasts among so many people to grab seventh place!

*This kid is also an old snake in the grass!*

The two stood facing each other on the stage.

"Classmate Fang." Ximen Xuri was dressed in white, looking quite handsome with fair skin, a tall build, and an elegant temperament. Although his face was a bit long, it wasn't quite a horse face—at most, a donkey face.

He clearly knew how to hide his weaknesses, slightly tucking in his chin and nodding with great poise. "I'm surprised we met in this round. I'm sorry, but in a real fight like this, there are no shortcuts to take."

The implication was clearly a jab at Fang Che for using clever tricks to take first place.

Fang Che smiled cordially. "Classmate Ximen is right. No wonder you could achieve such a high rank of seventh; this strength is indeed extraordinary."

Ximen Xuri's expression slowly darkened. He said flatly, "Fang Che, does your name mean 'thoroughly lost'?"

Fang Che smiled faintly, hands behind his back, looking down at Ximen Xuri with a condescending gaze. "Classmate Ximen, my studies are quite varied, and I have some research into etymology. Your name isn't exactly auspicious."

Ximen Xuri: "Oh?"

"Since ancient times, the sun rises in the East. How could there be a rising sun in the West? Your name defies the natural order of the five elements and the universe; it will surely invite heavenly retribution." Fang Che said kindly, "How about changing your name?"

Ximen Xuri's expression was cold. "With me here, wherever I go, that is where the sun rises!"

Fang Che chuckled softly. "I fear that when your Western sun meets me, it will be thoroughly struck down."

The words had been exhausted. From the moment they stood on the stage, both felt the same thing: they were not cut from the same cloth. The hostility was thick and heavy.

Neither gained the upper hand in the verbal sparring, and both remained composed. Since they couldn't break the other's mental defenses as a breakthrough point, they would have to settle it with their skills.

Ximen Xuri flicked his sleeves, revealing fair palms. He slid his feet as if on ice, gliding seven meters across the stage, and struck out with a palm!

Fang Che stepped back half a step, then pushed off, stepping back in. His black robes fluttered. In a flash, with a faint glimmer of starlight, he crossed six meters and revealed his own right palm, striking out.

*Boom!*

Their palms collided with a dull thud. Black robes and white clothes billowed simultaneously as they both retreated three steps.

The two referees on the stage looked at each other, admiration in their eyes. This strike was intentional, meant to test the opponent's strength. But the key was that neither had used their full power!

Fang Che had used the strength of a ninth-grade Martial Warrior, while Ximen Xuri had used the strength of a first-grade Martial Master. On the surface, it appeared to be a draw.

Ximen Xuri's face darkened. He spun his body, and a small whirlwind appeared on the spot. He became a blur, circling Fang Che and launching a storm of attacks.

Fang Che stood firm, never overextending. He raised his cultivation to the first-grade Martial Master realm, parrying every move with three parts offense and seven parts defense.

In an instant, the black and white colors swirled together on the arena, inseparable, as if a Taiji diagram had suddenly appeared.

Ximen Xuri held the seven-part offensive and could be said to have the upper hand. But his heart grew heavier and heavier. He couldn't break the opponent's defense. Fang Che's defense was utterly flawless. And with every collision, he could feel the counter-vibrations. Ximen Xuri's heart sank further.

*The opponent's cultivation is definitely above mine!*

Despite the surface advantage, he knew he would lose if this continued! Once the opponent countered, it would be over.

Everyone watching thought Ximen Xuri had the upper hand, pinning Fang Che down, but only Ximen Xuri, who was in the thick of it, understood. He was the one truly at a disadvantage!

*I must win! I can't let this brat play the pig to eat the tiger!*

Having made his decision, a white flash surged. He flipped in the air, his white robes spreading like a white crane taking flight. With a turn, three cold glints shot out. It was his signature hidden weapon technique.

"Take this!"

He shouted only after the weapons were released.

The two referees shook their heads secretly, their opinion of Ximen Xuri's character dropping significantly, and they prepared to intervene to save Fang Che.

Fang Che appeared caught off guard, dodging in a panic, barely escaping. But then, seven more cold glints flashed in the air, and behind those seven, three almost invisible dark glints followed.

The three dark glints were aimed at the center of the forehead, the dantian, and the heart.

*The Mother-Child Soul-Snatcher.*

The referees' eyes flashed with anger. This was a killing move! This was just a friendly competition between classmates, with no grudges, yet a killing move was used!

Fang Che flipped to the side and drew his blade with a *shing* sound, seemingly overcome by uncontrollable rage.

*Clang! Clang!* Two three-edged spikes were knocked away. He swayed repeatedly, darting out through the gaps in the hidden weapons. The blade light flared, as if a sun had appeared on the arena, blindingly bright.

"Despicable!"

Fang Che roared, and blood sprayed across the stage!

Ximen Xuri let out a shrill scream; one arm and half his shoulder fell into the dust. Fang Che already had his blade held horizontally against Ximen Xuri's throat. Perhaps unable to control his rage, his arm trembled as he hissed, "This is just a classmate competition, yet you tried to kill me!"

Fang Che stepped on the severed arm on the ground, crushing the wound. The pale palm flopped open, rolling out a handful of steel needles that had been hidden in his grip!

The entire arena fell silent!

On the stage, Fang Che stood with his body trembling slightly, his face full of aggrieved fury, as if he had suffered the greatest injustice in the world.